


choke me like you hate me (but you love me)

by fletchersarrow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Draco Malfoy, Idiots in Love, Lovers to Friends to Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Harry Potter, Pining Draco Malfoy, Pining Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, valentines gift for my bf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29412807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fletchersarrow/pseuds/fletchersarrow
Summary: a drarry multichapter songfic (for my boyfriends valentine's gift)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Kudos: 7





	1. touch me with the lights off

The first time Harry saw Malfoy after the Battle of Hogwarts, he never would have guessed he would end his night with Malfoy's dick in his mouth in the bathroom of the underground wizards club he’d been dragged to on the final night of Ron’s stag do in Berlin.

********

“ _Die Zauberer Stechen_ is it’s name,” Neville had said excitedly to Harry a week earlier, as they’d been laying out the final plans for the weekend away. “It’s the _coolest_ queer bar for wizards in Europe, Harry we’ve _got_ to go,” Neville insisted, and Harry shrugged.

“We don’t have any plans for the last night anyway, and at least this way it’ll be easier to keep Ron out of any trouble,” he had relented, happy to have something to fill that gap in their schedule.

Neville’s face had taken on a slight hint of horror, “You don’t think he would…”

“Oh god no, I'm joking Nev,” Harry smiled tiredly, “Sorry my humour’s been unnecessary dark of late, what with everything going on at work…”

Harry paused, but Neville just smiled at him reassuringly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “I know, mate.” Then when, after a pause, Harry made eye contact with him, he had smacked Harry heavily on the shoulder, “A night at _Die Zauberer Stechen_ might be just what you need to let off steam.” And, with a wink and a grin, he got up and gathered his cloak.

“See you on friday at 8am for the flight?” Harry had asked, as Neville was stepping into the fireplace.

Turning toward him, Neville had nodded, “Aye, and don’t worry, I’ve got my muggle license up to date!” and then, with a pop, he was gone, and Harry was alone in his little apartment on Diagon Alley once again.

Turning back to the piles of paperwork staring at him from his desk across the room, he had sighed. _Just gotta make it till Friday,_ he thought as he sat down to work.

********

The trip had, in Harry’s opinion, been _quite_ a success. Berlin was beautiful, trapped in the final stages of transition from Spring to Summer, and both the wizarding and muggle sites in the city gave them more than enough to fill their time with. And there were, ofcourse, some surprises even Harry (who had Hermione help him with the schedule) couldn’t have anticipated -- namely that Ron would become so enamoured by the hundreds of little bakeries in the city that on their second day there they visited near every damn one.

But the beer was good, the company was better, and more important than anything, Ron seemed really happy -- to be spending time with his brothers and friends, to be somewhere sunny, to be away from the hubbub of wedding planning. Though, arguably, everyone was relieved for that -- any amount of respite from Mrs. Weasley’s calls to anyone she could reach every few hours to make sure that everything was still going according to plan was welcome at this point. Harry still couldn’t work out why on earth they’d decided to let _Fleur_ of all people organise the festivities. The whole thing was driving Mrs Weasley slightly nuts.

Not that it would matter for much longer. The wedding was two days after they got back, on June 5th. Not that Harry felt prepared at all -- he still wasn’t able to get through a _practice_ of his best man’s speech without sweating through his shirt, robes, _and_ cloak. More than once, Harry had wondered how he had managed to go toe to toe with evil wizards in his teens, and yet at age 25 couldn’t muster up the courage to congratulate his two closest friends in public.

As the end of the trip got closer, and the fear of his impending speech giving grew larger, Harry found himself growing more and more tense. On the last night, they had all gone hard on the Fire Whiskey, and Harry more than most. By the time they arrived at the doors of _Die Zauberer Stechen,_ Harry had almost managed to convince himself that Neville was wrong -- that he didn’t need some mindless fun to destress, he was better than that. But he wasn’t anticipating the beautiful man he saw on the dancefloor as soon as they’d left the cloakroom.

“I’m gonna go get a round,” Fred shouted in his ear, and walked off in the direction of the bar, Bill following along behind him.

Neville nudged Harry with an elbow, “I think I see an open booth, we should go grab it!” Harry nodded, distracted, eyes still on the dancefloor, searching for a body that now seemed to be terribly absent. He only looked away when he felt Ron’s arm loop through his and pull him off after Neville and his brothers towards one of the booth’s lining the walls of the dimly lit club.

The distraction from the man on the dancefloor gave Harry a moment to look around and take in this well-hyped-up club. He could see the appeal. The room was large, almost half taken up by a center dancefloor, filled with bodies dancing on one another. One wall was lined with dimly lit booths, some with curtain drawn, and the other with bar stools around tall tables, occupied by friend groups and couples all talking loudly over the bass heavy music. On the other wall was the bar, and across from it a wall made totally of mirrors.

When Harry glanced at that wall, he sat upright. He saw the back of the man he’d noticed when he entered, a beautiful back of sculpted muscle, visible only because the sweat-soaked wizards shirt he had on was clinging to him so closely as to essentially be transparent. Harry swallowed, barely having noticed that his mouth was dry, and the bodies on the dancefloor moved again, obscuring the man from his vision. He let out a shaky breath, and turned to see Neville gently laughing at him.

He leaned over the table of the booth and semi-shouted, “Whoever you were just looking at, you _better_ be going home with tonight,” laughing as Harry went to make a retort but was interrupted by Fred and Bill returning with a platter of drinks.

It only took Harry two more shots of Fire Whiskey to get up to dance, and only one glimpse of the white shirt and blonde hair he’d been searching for to abandon all pretense of trying to dance with his friends. When he spotted the man once more through the crowd, he warned Neville not to hang around waiting if he disappeared, and received an encouraging back slap and rowdy reassurance from his friends. As he made his way in the direction of the man, he found himself dancing with numerous other people. The press of bodies in this place was intense, but despite the welcoming advances of other people he kept an eye out for another flash of white, trying to make his way closer to his goal.

It was at the change of a song that he felt someone press up behind him, and before he could turn to see who it was, he felt a hand rest on his hip and a voice in his ear, “You’ve been watching me all night.” The voice was barely a whisper, and yet Harry understood every word. He watched as a white-clothed arm wound its way around his waist, pulling his body harder against the man behind him. The sudden contact sent his head into a spin, heatwaves radiating off of everywhere their skin pressed together.

Harry pretended not to notice the bulge of the man’s crotch against his ass, and instead turned his head to the side, eyes closing at the feeling of the blonde breathing on his neck, to hum an affirmation in the man’s ear, “And what are you planning on doing about it?”

They danced together for hours after that, Harry would later say. Honestly, he couldn’t remember if they’d danced for two songs or twenty. He just remembered the desperate push of their bodies together in the heat of the dancefloor, the man’s hands on his arse, Harry’s hands raking down his back, realizing at some point that it was all getting to be too much, whispering that in the blonde’s ear, the brush of a hand over his crotch, the groan he let out, the hand pulling him off the dancefloor, pulling that same hand after him into the bathroom. Everything else he remembers in exact detail.

The cold of the wall against his back as he was pushed against the tiles, the warmth of the body in front of him, the crash of their lips coming together, all hunger but no greed, the way his hands found purchase in the silky blonde hair of the man in front of him asthe man unbuttoned Harry’s shirt. The noise that came out of the man’s mouth when Harry gently tugged on the hair at the nape of his neck, and then the louder groan that followed when he bunched his fist harder and pulled again. Harry smirked against his mouth, about to say something teasing when-

“Fuck- oh,” Harry let out a moan as the man rutted forward into him and Harry was able to feel the length of his cock press hard against his own, and realised with a start how turned on they both had become. The man rutted forward again. “Merlin, fuck-” he was cut off by a kiss, that moved from his lips to the stubble on his cheeks, along his jaw, down his neck.

The man started to drop to his knees, kissing over his exposed chest and stomach, running his fingers all over this body as he kissed lower, eventually dropping his hands to the top of Harry’s trousers. He looked up, seeking permission to go further, but Harry wasn’t looking at him. His eyes scrunched shut, his head turned to the side, Harry was doing everything he could not to come already, knowing the sight of the man on his knees before him would send him over the edge. The man remained still, waiting for some sign to continue, when Harry eventually let out a strangled, “please- fuck, please keep going.”

Smirking, the man unbuttoned Harry’s trousers, pulling them and his underwear down in one motion, Harry’s dick revealing itself to him, hard and already wet with precum. Swallowing, gasping for breath, Harry wasn’t ready for the warm feeling of the man’s mouth around the head of his dick, or the gentle pull when the man wrapped his fingers around the base. When he took his full length into his mouth in one sweeping motion, it was everything Harry could do not to cry out.

Had Harry been able to focus on anything else at the time, he might have noticed the song change once more out in the club. The baseline vibrated the wall behind him as he ran his fingers into the man’s hair:

_Choke me, like you hate me_

_But you love me_

_Lowkey, wanna date me_

_When you fuck me_

_Touch me with the lights off, and my chains on_

_Baby, I'm not the right one you should wait on_

Harry was unsurprised that he came so quickly -- the blonde had just given him the best blowjob of his life -- but he was surprised at the hunger he felt to kiss the blonde again after finishing. Using his hold on his hair to pull him back up to full height, Harry crashed their lips together, pushing the man against the bathroom door, tasting himself on his tongue as they each opened their mouths to let their tongues battle for dominance.

Harry now let his hands explore, yanking the man’s wizarding shirt roughly out of his breeches, using the access to run his hands over the sculpted muscle that had first caught his eye when they arrived that night, whimpering into the kiss at how much more perfect his body was up close, under his touch, desperate to savour the feeling. But Harry was never one for patience. Too quickly, and no where near fast enough, he let his hand fall to the bulge in the blonde’s breeches, and grinned at the groan that came out of the man’s mouth as he stroked at his shaft through the cloth.

“Merlin… I-” Harry cut the man off with another kiss, this time grasping onto his shaft through his breeches, and almost preened at the, “F- Fuck,” cried out onto his lips. Determined to hear that same noise again, Harry fell to his knees, pulling the knots out of the man’s breeches as he went, pausing with his hands on his hips, the tent of his trousers less than an inch from his face, to look up and seek the same permission he had given earlier.

That was when he realised _who_ the man was.

The look of shock on Malfoy’s face must have matched Harry’s, because they both stayed perfectly still, barely breathing, for a minute. That was, until the tent in Malfoy’s pants twitched, and Harry’s attention was brought back to his roaring desire to taste the man in front of him and, without really thinking about the implications, because he _couldn’t_ think about the implications, he looked up again. “Well?”

Malfoy swallowed, a deep flush running down his neck. There was a moment, then he nodded, and his hands found purchase in Harry’s hair. Still uncertain, Harry didn’t move, until Malfoy tugged on his hair and a muffled, “please,” fell from his lips. Grinning, Harry removed his prize from the breeches keeping it so constrained, and found himself instantly salivating. He hadn’t wanted to taste someone like this in a while.Grasping on to Malfoy’s hips, Harry took him slowly into his mouth, swirling his tongue around his head, tasting the distinct flavour of precum, going deeper until his nose was buried in the wispy blond pubic hairs at Malfoy’s base. The noise Malfoy let out was immaculate, and as Harry bobbed his head he couldn’t help but glance up and take in the sight before him. He didn’t really know how he hadn’t noticed how beautiful Malfoy was before. Or how hot he could be.

Malfoy, much to Harry’s disappointment, came almost as quickly as he did, leaving him not enough time to enjoy the experience. Yet, he knew he would never forget the way Malfoy had looked as he arched his back off of the wall and came, shot after shot, right into the back of Harry’s throat. Harry didn’t know if he’d ever be able to forget any of that night.

********

After the ordeal was done, the two had spent some undefinable amount of time staring at each other from across the cramped bathroom stall. Neither knew what to say, or where to start.

Eventually, when the seconds seemed to be turning to hours, Malfoy let out an incredulous, “Potter?”

Harry laughed, lightly, at how ridiculous that sounded. Of course it was him, and of bloody course it was Malfoy. “Yes,” Harry said, simply, too drunk and unsure of what else to say. After a pause he added, “Malfoy?”

Another pause. Then, “Yes.”

“Not a Death Eater anymore?” Harry asked, realising too late that that maybe wasn’t the best question to ask your ex-arch nemesis who you had just sucked off.

Draco tensed, and his eyes became hard. Pulling up to his full height, his face set into a sneer, “Merlin, Potter,” he said, almost spittingly, “That’s not-”

“No you’re right, I’m sorry,” Harry apologised. “That was insensitive, I’m drunk, I’m not filtering myself well, I-”

“You can stop blabbering,” Malfoy said, letting his shoulders fall, “I have no reason to be so defensive. And, to answer your question… no. Not a Death Eater anymore.” He said through gritted teeth.

Harry nodded. “Nice, that.”

Malfoy snorted, “That’s all you have to say? Seven years since we last saw each other at that cursed school and that’s all you have to say?” He sounded indignant, hurt somehow.

Harry looked up at him from his position, still squatting on the floor, “What else do you want me to say?”

Malfoy said nothing after that, for a while. Then he shrugged. “I guess that’s all there is to say.”

He turned to unlock the door to the bathroom, to leave, to -- Harry presumed -- pretend none of that had even happened, “Wait!” Malfoy paused, hand still on the lock, “What time is it? I might need help getting a cab back to my hotel.”

* * *

Draco never expected the first time he would see Harry fucking Potter after the Battle of Hogwarts would be in the middle of hooking up with him in his favourite club in Berlin. But Draco has never been particularly lucky, especially not where Harry fucking Potter is involved.

********

Draco had been in Berlin for around a year at that point -- before then, he had spent a year in Milan, two in Marseilles, 9 months hitch-hiking around Spain -- and it had been almost 4 years to the day since he’d last been in the U.K..

He was working muggle jobs for muggle money and living in muggle apartments, only occasionally dipping back into the wizarding economy with the small amount of money his parents had given him before he fled Britain. In Milan, he’d allowed himself to go to the performances of ancient, wandless magic occasionally on display, and in Marseilles he’d fallen in love with a little wizarding cafe that had open mic nights every month, and he’d go for a coffee and watch, though he never worked up the confidence to perform himself. His monthly treat, since arriving in Berlin, had been his trips to _Die Zauberer Stechen_ , where he’d show up already drunk, spend less than a sickle on the cheapest drink, and spend hours grinding on and often fucking whichever stranger would have him.

He was living a good life, by any measure that he could think of, especially compared to the three years of house arrest he’d been under prior to leaving the country. And it was far from all connections to his past, every person who might recognise him, anyone who might care about him, whether for good or bad. He had spent four years running, and almost believed he’d escaped it. But then he was at his favourite club, partaking in his favourite activity, only to realise the person he was doing it with was Harry fucking Potter.

 _Whatever god’s there are,_ Draco had thought, when he made eye contact with Harry, noticed his scar, _you’re all such fucking cunts._

The moment of recognition had passed, though, and Potter had stayed on his knees, his eyes still looking up in question. The thought that Potter might still want to go through with it sent another wave of desire through Draco, and he felt his cock twitch. He watched Potter's eyes dart down to the tent in his breeches, and his tongue dart out to lick his lips. When he looked back up at him, he seemed to have made his mind up, and when the question, “Well?” spilled out of his mouth, it was all Draco could do to stop his hips bucking forward.

Glancing at the ceiling, and feeling his cheeks heat up, Draco swallowed hard but said nothing. Another glance down to see Potter on his knees before him sent another wave of wanting through Draco, and before he could even convince himself he wanted it out of horniness and nothing more, he felt himself nodding, and his fingers moving through Potter’s perpetually messy hair. When Potter still didn’t move, Draco almost let out a whimper, but instead managed a request, “please,” and before he could be embarrassed at the desperation in his own voice, Potter’s mouth was on him, and thoughts of all else left his head.

********

The more the high of his orgasm wore off, the more Draco couldn’t believe that the man in front of him was actually Potter. It seemed so statistically unlikely -- unlikely that they’d be in the same country, the same city, the same borough, street, club, have the same sexuality, mutual desire, dance, grind, suck, _cum_. It was unbelievable. And yet the evidence was the man right in front of him, just as drunk as he was, wiping away some of Draco’s cum from the side of his mouth.

Potter said nothing. Just looked at him. Eventually, Draco broke the silence. “Potter?” He sounded more emotional than he’d intended to, but they were both drunk, so he didn’t worry about it too much. How likely would either of them be to remember this in the morning? With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realised he absolutely would not be forgetting this experience anytime soon, and if Potter had felt even a little the same as he did, then neither would he.

He responded, “Yes,” to Potter’s inquiry, confirming that he was in fact _Malfoy_ , though he didn’t go by that name anymore.

“Not a Death Eater anymore?” Potter said, and Draco almost felt like he’d been slapped in the face. It had been years since anyone had brought up his past to him directly, though of course not long at all since he’d been thinking about it. His years of running had been productive for one thing at least, and that was teaching Draco some sense of humility.

Still, hearing such an accusatory question from someone he had spent all his years knowing, hating, was enough to spark up his defenses. Standing up to tower over Potter, still crouched on the other side of the bathroom, Draco sputtered, “Merlin, Potter,” he forgot how much venom he could attach to the name, “That’s not-”

“No you’re right, I’m sorry,” Potter seemed to... apologise. Draco’s mind froze for a second, halfway through saying _That’s not what I am anymore, nor was I ever, never freely._ “That was insensitive…”

He could barely hear Potter, so focussed he was on the fact that he apologised. _Maybe we’ve both changed_ , Draco thought.

Realising Potter was still talking, he muttered out, “you can stop blabbering, I have no reason to be so defensive. And, to answer your question… no. Not a Death Eater anymore.” He hadn’t said the phrase _Death Eater_ in such a long time, he almost bit out the words.

“Nice, that.”

That pulled a snort out of Draco, who was struggling to keep a reign on all of his emotions. “That’s all you have to say?” He let out, almost laughing, “Seven years since we last saw each other at that cursed school and that’s all you have to say?” At the end he realised he was feeling a little shunned, but he didn’t know why that bothered him so much.

“What else do you want me to say?”

Draco didn’t have an answer to that, nor could he seem to get a reign on the emotions and thoughts whirling through his head and body. He couldn’t make heads nor tails of what had happened that night, beyond the certainty that he had, in fact, had Potter’s dick in his mouth, as Potter had had his. He shook his head, knowing dwelling on that would soon cause another issue in his breeches. “I guess that’s all there is to say.”

Unsure of how to continue, only knowing he had to get out of there and sleep off the alcohol before he could move forward, Draco turned to leave. Potter’s, “wait!” gave him pause, though his hand remained on the lock. “What time is it? I might need help getting a cab back to my hotel.”

Knocking his head gently against the door, Draco rolled his eyes, before turning to Potter and offering him a hand up. Potter took it and, pulling his phone out of his pocket, Draco pulled up the number for the local wizarding cab service. After a few sentences exchanged in German, he turned to Potter and asked, “Where are you staying?”


	2. i'm needing everything that we should be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry i'm so bad at writing these characters forgive how ooc they are

The next time Draco saw Potter was at Luna’s wedding, almost two years later. Luna was one of the only people -- besides his parents -- who he had made some effort to maintain contact with while he was running. Their friendship was unlikely, but for both of them was a lifeline. Something about the experience of captivity they had gone through together at Malfoy Manor had formed a connection between them, and when Luna had started writing to him during his time in house arrest, Draco had been surprised by how much joy he got from their correspondence. So, when Luna had sent him an invite to her and the Weasley girl’s -- _Ginny_ , Draco kept admonishing himself -- wedding, he wasn’t really surprised when he found himself filling out the RSVP and sending the owl to return less than a day later.

He sighed as the owl flew away, out of the window, disappearing from sight quickly as it’s white wings blended into the snow that lay, thick and eternal, around the village at the top of one of the Swiss Alps, where he had been for the last 18 months. Draco had always known he couldn’t run forever. He had been feeling the pressures to go home building over the past 6 months -- his father was growing ill, and his mother old, and their letters to him had taken on a tone of gentle pleading, for their only child to return to them in their waning years. While Luna had never asked him about his plans to return, there was always a desire for them in her letters. And, of course, there was the memory of that night with Potter in the club in Berlin. Draco couldn’t pretend he wasn’t intrigued by Potter, didn’t want to get to know him better, didn’t want to feel his lips against his own once more...

Shaking himself to break his train of thought -- he knew _exactly_ where it would lead -- he watched as Luna’s glorious white owl had come once more, briefly into view, before fading finally out of sight. He closed the window to keep out the chill, and looked at all of his possessions, cluttering his living room. Draco sighed.

Then, he set about the task of packing.

* * *

Luna’s wedding, Harry thought, was really quite a lovely affair. Her and Ginny’s popularity was at its lowest in highschool, so by the age of 25 the two had accumulated a wide fair of family and friends from all around the globe, and from all walks of life. It was a big celebration, on a glorious summer’s day, and as the sun set and the party picked up, Harry took it all in from the side of the dance pavilion, thinking about how grateful he was that the number of wedding’s he had attended that _hadn’t_ ended in a violent coup was now comfortably higher than those he had attended that _had_.

He was chuckling, rather darkly, to himself when Ron came bumbling up to him. Leaning against the table next to Harry, he said, in the lilting voice that only a drunk Weasley gets, “Harry!” He grabbed Harry’s shoulder with almost comical extravagance, “You wouldn’t _believe_ who we just saw.”

“We?” Harry asked, making an exaggeration out of looking around for someone else with Ron, only to find no one.’

Ron frowned, also whipping his head around, “Wha-oh, Hermoine must have gone off somewhere-” He turned back to Harry, “But look it’s not important! We just saw -” He glanced around, leaning closer to Harry, only to say in the loudest whisper he could muster, “-Draco Malfoy!”

Harry froze for a second. _Shit_ , _Malfoy’s here?_ He thought, immediately glancing around the dancefloor, but unable to locate him. He looked at Ron, who seemed to be waiting for some other response from him other than silence.

“Oh?” Harry said, almost wincing at how unnatural his voice sounded. While he hadn’t harboured any active animosity towards Malfoy for years -- since _the incident_ \-- Harry still found himself occasionally joking with Ron and Hermoine about him. Nothing necessarily derisive, but probably a normal amount of ribbing for an old highschool nemesis who had also been a Nazi, forced or not. Ron was probably expecting a more angry response from him. Or, at this point, any response at all.

“ _Oh?”_ Ron repeated, laughing, but was stopped from continuing by Hermoine, who appeared at his side.

“Ron! You already told him didn’t you?” She asked, looking a little bit flush and slightly out of breath. At Ron’s nod, she looked at Harry, “So?”

“He just said ‘oh’.”

“Oh, indeed,” Hermoine repeated, seeming less stressed than before, “Honestly, Harry, some part of me half expected you would be up and out of your chair sulking after him like we’re sixth years again, the second you heard he was here.”

Harry laughed with them at that, “Merlin, no, you can’t sneak very well when you’re this many fire whiskeys in,” he paused, but then asked, “Why _is_ he here though?”

Ron shrugged, but Hermoine leaned in to say, “I just went to ask Ginny when we spotted him -- apparently him and Luna are good friends and have been keeping in touch via letters since..well, since he was under house arrest it sounded like.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, but couldn’t say he was surprised. Luna had never mentioned it, but it also seemed like the kind of thing she would do. Ron seemed a little more confused, but didn’t say anything.

“Anyway, according to her, he’s been travelling around Europe all this time -- Milan, Marseilles, Berlin-”

“Berlin?” Ron interrupted, “D’yah think he was there at the same times as us, when we went?” He asked, question aimed at Harry, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The truth was, since that first trip to Berlin for Ron’s stag doo, the group had gone back each year, at roughly the same time. But Malfoy had never been at _Die Zauberer Stechen_ again, and Harry liked to pretend he didn’t look for him when they were there.

“I mean, even if he was, the probability of running into him was low -- Berlin is a city of what? Almost 4 million people?” Hermione chimed in, giving Harry a second to catch himself before his thoughts strayed too far.

“Yeah,” Harry said, “anyway, I’m in need of a glass of water, I’ll be back in a minute.” He got up and headed towards the bar at the back of the pavilion. His eyes stayed staring at the floor in front of him as he walked, partly because he was drunk, and partly because he didn’t know what he would do if he happened upon that same blonde man who had had him weak at the knees so quickly two years before.

But looking at the floor hasn’t ever been enough of a method for stopping fate, who never seemed to be on Harry’s side.

A child -- one of Luna’s distant cousins or something -- ran by Harry, just a little too close to his legs, and he stumbled, trying to keep his balance. Just when he realized he was about to fall into the person standing next to him, he glanced up and his stomach dropped as he took in Malfoy’s face, frozen in an expression of bewilderment, right before he crashed into him, sending them both to the floor.

Sometime Harry wished the world would swallow him whole. But, after a moment, when the world was not swallowing him whole, he unfroze and scrambled off of Malfoy and back to his feet as quickly as he could. If he concentrated really hard on acting sober, he could almost pretend he hadn’t enjoyed the feeling of being pressed against him again, as though it hadn’t been eerily familiar.

“M-Malfoy,” Harry said, jutting his hand out to help him up. Malfoy, still looking a little shocked, slowly raised his hand to Harry’s and allowed himself to be pulled up. “I’m so sorry, I think I’ve had a fire whiskey too many, you know how weddings are-”

“Especially your ex’s wedding, huh Potter?” Malfoy asked, interrupting what Harry was sure was going to be an unnecessarily long nervous drabble.

Then he processed what Malfoy had said. Harry and Ginny had been broken up for years -- since they were still in school -- and Harry was used to it being a joking topic of conversation. Just not from Draco Malfoy. _But hey,_ Harry thought, _I guess he_ is _a friend now, and if he’s been in contact with Luna that isn’t so strange._

After a seconds pause, he smiled and said, “Yeah, especially an ex’s wedding.”

Malfoy gave him a small smile, and Harry just looked at him for probably a second too long. Malfoy coughed slightly, and Harry jolted, “I was just going to the bar to get some ah, some water,” he said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “Do you need a drink?”

Malfoy blinked slowly, and after only a seconds pause, nodded, “Sure, Potter. You’re paying?”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Sure, Malfoy.”

* * *

Draco didn’t know what to expect when he agreed to Potter’s drink offer, but ending up back at his table with Weasley and Granger, at least two drinks deeper than he should have been, wasn't it. At least he was having a good time.

Draco didn’t speak a huge amount, just watched the three together. He forgot, sometimes, that everyone else had also been growing up, moving on, as he had been travelling. His eyes kept wandering over to Potter, finding something entrancing in the way he talked. _He always was so pretty,_ Draco thought, before immediately snapping his eyes away from Potter. _Merlin, I’ve drank too much._

********

The end of the night came quickly -- or slowly? Draco could never remember. He just knew at some point he had nodded off onto the table in front of him, and remembered Potter calling out for Luna, and then the softness of a pillow, and then nothing.

Except, of course, his dreams.

_Draco was sitting in the church that Luna and Ginny’s wedding had been held in, full of people, all eerily silent, moving as if floating throughout the room. He felt a burning sensation on the back of his neck, and knew someone was watching him. He turned his head, slowly, moving as delicately as those around him. There was no one there looking at him._

_He turned back around to concentrate of the movements of the woman in front of him, but when his head had barely moved back to its position, he felt it again, and this time when he turned around, he glanced up, and caught the sight of a man staring at him from the upstairs balcony._

_Suddenly he wasn’t sitting anymore, he was in a stairwell leading up, he knew, to that balcony with the figure of a man, and he didn’t hesitate before walking up it._

_When he opened the heavy wooden door at the top of the stairs, he found himself looking down at the wedding below him, admiring the scene._

_“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The man suddenly appeared next to him, but Draco wasn’t surprised. He had felt him watching from the corner of the balcony._

_When he turned to the man, Draco was surprised that the face he saw was Potter’s. His black hair was messily reaching down to his eyes, and dark eyes looking searchingly at Draco. Draco wanted to tense up in shock when Potter reached out his arms to wrap them around Draco’s waist, pulling his body into his, but instead he found himself relaxing._ Maybe this is normal for dream Draco, _he thought._

_He rested his head atop Potters, allowing his arms to fall around the smaller man. When dream-Potter started to kiss his neck, dream-Draco knew exactly what he wanted to do. Turning his head, he captured Potter’s lips in his own and pulled him in for a searing kiss, one like the first time they had kissed in that bar in Berlin._

_Potter matched Draco ferocity, bringing his hands up from around Draco’s waist to grasp onto his shoulders, pulling the taller man closer. Draco’s hands found their way into Potter’s hair as his tongue entered his mouth._

_Draco pulled away briefly, trying to catch his breath, but only for long enough to let out a breathy, “Fuck,” before being pulled in for another kiss. He could feel the heat in his body spreading to his crotch and, when he heard Potter moan as he moved against him, Draco knew that he could feel it too._

_Draco pulled away from Potter’s lips to kiss along his stubbly jawline, up to his ear where he whispered, “Missed me, Potter?” The ensuing moan and desperate clinging to his back that came out of Potter at that point was almost enough to send Draco over the edge. Instead, he pulled the man’s hair back, exposing his neck before him, and took his time kissing his way down to Potter’s collarbone, biting into his pulse point, body on fire at the sounds his ministrations elicited._

_“Fuck, Malfoy-”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Please- Oh-” Potter stuttered into silence as Draco worked his way back up to whisper in his ear._

_“What do you want me to do, Potter?”_

_After only a moments silence, a breathless Potter pleaded, “I want you to fuck me.”_

_Draco couldn’t hold in his own moan in response to that. Not sure he could trust himself to speak, he returned his lips to Potter’s with a renewed vigor, their teeth briefly smashing together and they scrambled to touch as much of each other as possible._

_Pushing Potter’s t-shirt over his head, Draco took barely a moment to appreciate the feel of the body under his hands before he felt hands unbuckling his belt and focussed on the activity of getting Potter out of his trousers. When they were finally naked, Potter kissed him again, slowly lowering himself to his knees, kissing down Draco’s chest and stomach. When he felt Potter’s fingers wrap around the base of his cock, Draco let out a low moan, reaching a hand out behind him to steady himself against one of the church pews. Potter’s mouth was as good as Draco remembered it to be. Draco’s hands found purchase, once again, in Potter’s hair, guiding the man as he sucked his cock._

_Realising he was going to cum much too soon, and before he had given Potter what he asked for, Draco used his grip in Potter’s hair to pull his head back. “Lie down,” he said, trying to sound commanding, even as his voice shaked. Potter looked up at him with wide eyes, but did as he was told. Draco smirked, “So you want me to fuck you?”_

_Potter’s embarrassed nod, as he now looked up at Draco from the ground, was enough to send another wave of desire through Draco. He lowered himself over Harry’s body, spending a moment rutting their cocks together, before pulling back._

_“You’re sure about this?” He asked, “You want me like this?”_

_Potter nodded again, “I do.”_

_With that sending another wave of emotion through him, Draco pushed into him. The bliss he felt was almost indescribable. Potter felt so good. As he pulled out again, he watched Potter’s face, marvelling in the way he moaned as he pushed in again, this time as deep as he could go. “Shit,” Draco said._

_Potter nodded desperately, his hands suddenly coming up to pull on Draco’s hips, “Malfoy, please -” he begged, “more.”_

_Draco didn’t need anymore encouragement. He gave Potter exactly what he asked for._

The next morning Draco had woken up to sticky bed sheets, and couldn’t get the memory of what had caused them out of his mind for long after a quick cleaning spell got rid of the only physical evidence.

********

They became tenuous friends after the wedding. Draco didn’t know how Potter did it -- _he must have never felt even slightly the same about what happened that night --_ but he seemed totally unphased in Draco’s presence. He never let on about what had happened in Berlin and, though he did get awkward sometimes, it was all explainable by the fact that they spent so much of their lives hating each other. Going from being at someone’s throat to being their drinking buddy would be weird for anyone.

Draco’s dreams got worse though. At first, it was just after every time they hung out, but as the weeks and then months passed, and his feelings didn’t dwindle, it became every week, every couple of nights. And now, every night.

He was going crazy.

At one of their nights out at the Leaky Cauldron, Potter was sitting across from him at a table of friends -- Draco still found it so peculiar, even in his head, to call them that -- when Neville prodded him about his “little crush”. Potter’s blush and reluctant, “Neville, stop! It’s not a crush it’s a- a- oh bugger, I guess it’s a crush,” opened up a pit in Draco’s stomach.

He excused himself to get another drink, and by the time he returned to the table the conversation had moved onto a different topic. But he couldn’t look directly at Potter for the rest of the night. He left early, unable to bear the risk that he might hear something about Potter’s crush again.

_Drew looks at me, I fake a smile so he won't see_

_That I want and I'm needing everything that we should be_

_I'll bet she's beautiful, that girl he talks about_

_And she's got everything that I have to live without_

Draco knew his feelings were childish, but he didn’t really know how that helped him move past it. He had known since that first night back, at the wedding, that Potter wasn’t into him in the same way. That he’d been creating something in his head for the past two years. Projecting. He was always terrible for that. But he hadn’t realised how invested in it he had remained -- that was, of course, until Potter’s new little boyfriend came along.

Draco had to admit, he was lovely. But he so struggled to listen to Potter drone on about him, and his little crush, and their date plans, and how thoughtful he was, and everything else.

As the weeks turned into months though, once again, Draco got better at hiding it. He was able to smile through Potter’s ramblings, and grit his teeth through meeting the man he wished he could be. _Merlin, it’s all so embarrassing,_ he had thought to himself as he watched Potter and McDowall (that was the guy’s name) chat to each other at the bar, _Sitting here simping for a Potter_.

_Drew talks to me, I laugh 'cause it is just so funny_

_That I can't even see anyone when he's with me_

_He says he's so in love, he's finally got it right,_

_I wonder if he knows he's all I think about at night_

Some nights, when Draco woke from his dreams -- of Potter’s hands on his body, his hands in his hair, the taste of him, the imagined smell of him lingering on his skin -- he couldn’t help himself but cry. The tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes no matter how tightly he screwed them shut, and sometimes he would let himself go and fall back into his pillows in sobs.

_He's the reason for the teardrops on my guitar_

_The only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star_

_He's the song in the car I keep singing, don't know why I do_

After that happened for a third night in a row, he gave in and made a decision. He couldn’t see Potter anymore.

* * *

Harry hated to admit it, and wouldn’t, literally to anyone, but he couldn’t stop himself having a small (potentially bigger than small) crush on Malfoy. It was only natural, right? I mean, he had basically hooked up with him once before. _And I don’t regret it_.

But Harry wasn’t _dating_ Malfoy. He _was_ dating Johnson. And he really really _really_ likes him. He did. But something changed in his and Malfoy’s relationship since Johnson came around, and he missed what had once been there. _And what was that?_ He would ask himself, when he thought about it late into the night. But he could never quite place a finger on it.

Then, Malfoy stopped hanging out with him.

Like, cold turkey. Harry didn’t know what to do about it. He wasn’t very good at direct confrontation, and Malfoy was exceptionally skilled at avoiding him. It was only now that he really regretted how much he had stalked Malfoy in their sixth year. He had given the man too much practice.

He didn’t even know if Malfoy was still in the country. Briefly, stupidly, he wondered about going to Berlin to see if he could find him there. He knew it was stupid. Luna would have said something if Malfoy had left the country. That being said, Luna had also been weird with him as of late. It was all so frustrating.

Once, about two weeks after he had dropped off the face of the planet, Harry saw Malfoy on the other end of Diagon Alley. He felt his heart jump in his chest, and let go of Johnson’s hand as he began to weave towards where he had seen him. But the crush of bodies crowding around the front of the only store with the latest broomstick in stock stopped him in his tracks, and he knew that Malfoy would be gone.

_Drew walks by me, can he tell that I can't breathe?_

_And there he goes, so perfectly,_

_The kind of flawless I wish I could be_

It took Harry another two months to end things with Johnson. They just wanted different things from their lives. He loved him, but it wouldn’t work out in the long run. That’s what he told his friends. He kept his dreams of blond hair in a nightclub bathroom to himself.

_So I drive home alone, as I turn out the light_

_I'll put his picture down and maybe_

_Get some sleep tonight_

Somehow, ending things with Johnson didn’t make things better. Malfoy didn’t come back, as Harry had hoped he would. Foolishly, naively, he now realised. _Fuck_ , he thought, standing alone by the fireplace in his apartment. He was getting tired of Malfoy’s elusiveness. He just wanted to confront him, get all his feelings out, and hope that would give him the chance to move on from them. It wasn’t fair of him -- to cling onto them, that is, since they were so obviously unreciprocated.

_Because he's the reason for the teardrops on my guitar_

_The only one who's got enough of me to break my heart_

_He's the song in the car I keep singing, don't know why I do_

_He's the time taken up, but there's never enough_

_And he's all that I need to fall into_

* * *

Draco didn’t know what to do with the news of Potter’s break up. He didn’t know what to make of it, and didn’t want to know what to make of it. His life was _better_ now, without Potter and his friends in it. He was in medical school, much to his own surprise as anyone else's. He spent his days studying and working and drinking in muggle pubs.

But once he knew, he couldn’t unknow.

He kept himself away for almost a month after the breakup. Half-wondering, half hating himself for still caring at all, he eventually mustered up the courage, and perhaps the foolishness, to find himself at Potter’s door one dark, rainy evening. If you asked him later, he would tell you he had only had one drink beforehand, but the sway in his step as he approached the door would have given him away as a liar.

He rang the buzzer and was immediately let in, without Potter ever checking who he was. A dark cloud set about his shoulders, feeling an unjust jealousy over the thought that Potter might be expecting someone, someone other than Draco. He grumbled to himself as he approached Potter’s door, and before his brain had really caught up to his actions, he knocked, once.

* * *

Harry was expecting to open the door to a very late repairman, come to fix his fireplace flue system, that had started malfunctioning the day before, and which he needed fixed in time for the weekend when he would be watching Teddy. He did not expect to open the door to a very sullen, very grumbly, and slightly tipsy looking Malfoy.

Nor did he expect Malfoy to launch himself at him as soon as the door was opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gotta wait for the next instalment :) happy valentines day !


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